No Santana That's Dumb
by The Anonymous Candybar
Summary: Santana gets the sense talked into her by a certain fish-lipped blonde.


Santana gets the sense talked into her by a certain fish-lipped blonde who won't let his favorite ladies break up so easily.

Just something to tide us over until the hiatus is over and Brittana gets back together.

* * *

Santana is halfway back to Louisville when she finally pulls over and lets herself break. She knows she did the best thing for Brittany- for both of them, really- but right now it doesn't feel like it. It hurts. All she can think about is Brittany holding her tight, choking out a broken, "_I love you to-o_." It took everything in Santana's power not to take back everything she had just said, beg Brittany to forget it, to pretend the conversation had never happened. Hadn't she said those things to help Brittany, to make her stop being sad? Wasn't Santana's goal to cut her loose so that she wouldn't be waiting for someone who had left her behind?

None of it matters now, though. It has all been said and done. Brittany is free to date someone who is close to her, someone who can be with her every day, who can fight off the bullies and jerks and assholes. And Santana is free to wallow in guilt and self-hatred and regret, until maybe she and Brittany are near each other again and can go back to being happily, effortlessly, endlessly in love. If you love something let it go, right? But what if Brittany wasn't meant to be hers- what if Brittany doesn't want her back?

These thoughts really aren't helping Santana stop crying. Her throat burns and her cheeks feel raw and her hands ache from gripping the steering wheel, she feels dizzy from taking in gulps of air and then deciding she doesn't want the oxygen, expelling it almost as quickly, but she can't move. She can't do anything but sob, harder and harder, her forehead pressing against her knuckles. She wants to bash her head against the steering wheel, but she is crying too hard to be able to move enough to do even that.

The obnoxious ringing of an iPhone is what finally draws her out of her endless cycle of sobbing, panting, quiet sitting, sobbing again. It isn't the ringtone she had specifically set for Brittany, or Quinn, or Berry (the midget only got a ringtone so that Santana would know not to pick up).

It might be her mother, wanting to check up on her. Santana doesn't want to worry her. She reaches out a shaking hand and grabs the phone. Instead of seeing her mother's face, she sees Sam's. The ID reads _Trouty Mouth_. She is answering it before she makes the decision to. "Hello?"

"What did you do?" He sounds angry. "She won't stop crying- I can't understand a damn thing she's trying to say, except for your name that she keeps saying over and over again. _What did you do_?"

Santana's voice is caught in her throat. She can't answer. What _did_ she do? Did she break up with her girlfriend?

Did she really do that?

Is this real?

"Santana, answer me, damn it! I've never seen her like this!"

"Sam…" She croaks.

There is a long pause. Then he says, softly but still guarded, still angry, "Have you been crying? You sound awful." A few moments pass and it settles in, the suspicion that has been nagging at him, the one he has been adamantly refusing to entertain. "Santana, you didn't. Tell me you didn't."

"It's better this way."

"For who?" Sam all but yells into the phone. Santana flinches anyways. "Brittany can hardly breathe- I think she's having a fucking _panic attack_- and you don't sound any better! God, Santana, I know long distance relationships are hard- trust me, I know, Mercedes and I tried it after my family had to move- but don't you think Brittany is worth it? She thinks the world of you, though right now I can't see why because you're acting like a Grade A dumbass. And I know you adore her. I know you care about her more than anything. I saw the looks you would give each other, I heard the things you whispered in the back of the choir room, I was there when you stood up in front of us and told us all that Brittany would always be your girlfriend. What happened to you? God damn."

"There was this girl-,"

"That you _smiled_ at, yeah, Brittany managed to get that out in bits and pieces. Oh my god, Santana. _You smiled at a girl, call the fucking cops_. Santana. Santana, oh my god. I just. I literally do not know _what to say to you_. Blaine cheated on Kurt, you know that? And Finn was awol for months before he finally showed up at Rachel's apartment. And you know what, it's sweet, it's touching that you feel bad for smiling at a girl because you care about Brittany _that fucking much_, but breaking up with her because of it? Oh no-no-no. Santana, nothing happened. You smiled at a girl. You did something half of the glee club probably thought you were incapable of doing- you utilized the muscles around your lips to turn the corners upwards instead of downwards."

"You don't get it, Sam, I-,"

"Smiled at a girl and nothing else. You didn't go ask her for her number, you didn't go jump her bones. You went back to your books and thought about Brittany like the devoted-and-in-love girlfriend you happen to be. And don't you try to correct the… the… tense? Tense right? Don't try to correct the tense of the verb I just used, because yes, Santana, you are still Brittany's girlfriend. Because what you did is dumb. It's super dumb. It's dumber than something Finn would do, or Puck, or me, or all three of us together in a room brainstorming dumb ideas. Do you follow? It's super dumb- it's a level of dumb that you are not capable of. So, it didn't happen. You get me? You are still Brittany's girlfriend, and she is still yours, because nobody is buying your bullshit."

She is speechless. That doesn't bother Sam in the slightest.

"Turn your car around, drive back to Lima, come to my place, pick Brittany up, go on a nice date, apologize, say you'll never do that again, kiss her a-fucking-lot, and don't you dare pull any of this bullshit again. I will be waiting on Mr. Hummel's front porch with Brittany. How far out are you?"

"I- I'm…"

"You've got two hours. That's what I'm giving you. That'll make a late dinner, but that won't bother you or Brittany I'm sure."

"Sam…"

"Wear something nice. And seriously, try to think before you do stuff. I swear, some of Finn's crazy I-love-you-so-be-free martyrdom bullshit must have rubbed off on you. Well, are you turning around yet? Are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm…" She swallows. "Thanks, Sam."

"Don't mention it. Actually, no. Do mention it, when you and Brittany are getting married and you're doing speeches or whatever. And I reserve the right to be Best Man. Wait, do lesbian weddings have a Best Man? Well, yours is, and it's gonna be me. So you can mention it then. Deal?"

She shakes her head, laughing quietly. "You got it, Trouty Mouth."


End file.
